


Barkiller

by rambunctiousragamuffin



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humiliation kink, M/M, Millicent is Hux's sister, PWP, Rape/Non-con Elements, Surprise daddy kink, Yes you read that right, autocorrect fails, bad blowjob etiquette, basically just a shameless excuse to plug more kink into a fic, but not between the main characters, dingy bar bathroom handjobs, hux takes a bath, inexperienced virgin kylo, phasma crushes a watermelon in between her thighs, promiscuous pernicious powerbottom hux, sack whacks, self-loving, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rambunctiousragamuffin/pseuds/rambunctiousragamuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux abides by rules, by order. His most important rule is "never sleep with the same person twice."</p><p>It is a good rule. It has served him well.</p><p>But all rules must have exceptions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> dubcon warning for sex after the consumption of alcohol

Hux was running late. It was only by… he checked his watch. He was only running late by 12 minutes--not that anyone else  _ cared _ what time he showed up at  _ Barkiller _ . But he was running late by his own metric, and that was the most important thing. His interminable meeting with the senior partners had started over ten minutes late, and then what was supposed to have been a fifteen minute sojourn for tea turned into half an hour of gossip-mongering while he passive-aggressively looked at his watch and impatiently tapped his foot.

 

He was impatiently tapping his foot again now as he waited for the lights to change so that he could safely cross the road, and checked his watch  _ again _ . Thirteen minutes, now. Thirteen minutes late, and it would completely throw his entire schedule off-kilter. His schedule that he had painstakingly arranged to run like clockwork. Sign off of work at 6:30pm, make it to  _ Barkiller _ by 7, have a liquid dinner, maybe pick someone up. On those days, Hux ensured that he was at their place by 9pm, that way they could fit one round--maybe two on a good day--in before 11pm, when they would invariably pass out in a drunken post-orgasmic stupor. Afterwards, he would traverse public transport on days that he didn’t feel like indulging in a cab, and he would be at home by 1:30.

 

Clockwork. He had artfully arranged his schedule just like a finely-tuned timepiece. As his watch ticked over to 14 minutes late, the lights finally changed, and he stepped out onto the road to cross over to the bar. He was distracted by looking at his watch, and so he did not see the other figure set on a collision course with him--not that the other figure was particularly difficult to see. No, he was tall, and broad across the shoulders, and in any other situation, Hux would be offering them a one-time ticket into his bed.

 

Instead, Hux felt his lips curl into a sneer of cold derision. The two parted ways without any further fuss, but Hux caught a murmured invective as it wafted by. It didn’t matter if Hux was an arrogant ass or not, that…  _ phillistine _ would not be getting a piece of it.

 

By the time Hux entered the bar, his watch read sixteen minutes late. Not that he bothered to check it this time. He ignored it in lieu of trying to garner the attention of Phasma, the bartender, but she was busy trying to dissuade a mousy brunet from ordering any further drinks. Hux recognised the other man as one of  _ Barkiller’s _ other regulars. Mitaka, he thought it was.

 

He took his normal seat--on the corner of the counter, where he could see the door in his periphery, and had the rest of the bar in his sights. There was a jacket strewn across it, obviously holding someone’s place. But that person was not there, and so the stool was free game for him. It was still warm, so obviously the person had not been gone for long. Hux only hoped that they would be gone for long enough for him to order a drink. If he had a drink in hand, he would appear to be more tethered in place, and any rational person would concede the seat to Hux.

 

Because Hux might be arrogant, but he wasn’t  _ rude _ , he had carefully draped the jacket across a stool a couple of seats down. A couple of seats down so that the person would not have to look far to find their jacket, but also so that they would not have to sit next to Hux, and potentially ruin his chances at pulling tonight. He had some… frustration to work out, and he would have been quite incensed had his chances been dashed by some vindictive patron with a chip on their shoulder.

 

Hux looked at his watch. 7:17. Hux looked up when he saw a drink being slid towards him--grey goose martini with a lemon rind, no olive. His usual. He nodded his thanks to Phasma after dropping a note on the counter, but she had already turned away to extract his change from the till. He had his first sip at 7:19. 

 

It wasn’t even twenty minutes later than he normally started drinking, but it did also mean that it was twenty minutes later since he had had his last meal at lunch, and that had been at 1pm. Lunch had also been a lot smaller today, since he had been in a rush to prepare for the meeting with the senior partners and could not take the opportunity to go out and order lunch, instead eating one of the lacklustre apples that had been sitting in the tea room for some indeterminate length of time. He would just have to sip more slowly today, despite how he had an urge bordering on a compulsion to down the entire cocktail in a single swill.

 

He set his cocktail back down on the napkin that Phasma had provided along with the drink, and cast his eye around the bar. There was no-one promising there that night. It wasn’t that there wasn’t anyone that Hux found attractive, and definitely not that there wasn’t anyone that found  _ Hux _ attractive. Hux knew what a figure he cut in his charcoal suit with his viridian shirt and Brunswick green tie, the way that the dark wool of his suit jacket played off his pale complexion and the way that the green emphasised the red of his hair. No, there wasn’t anyone that Hux found attractive and hadn’t slept with yet.

 

It would be a shame, Hux thought to himself, if he would have to change watering holes for a change of pace. At times he almost regretted his rule of never sleeping with the same person twice, but memories of the way that his first… boyfriend--if you could even call it that--in high school had gotten attached too quickly had quickly disavowed Hux of that notion. No, it was easier this way. Easier without entanglements, without obligations.

 

Of  _ course _ the figure would wait for Hux to take a sip before clearing his throat, just to startle Hux and make him choke on his cocktail. Trying to recollect his dignity, Hux padded gently at his mouth with a spare napkin before turning around to face the figure.  _ Of course _ it was the person that he had bumped into on the street, now smelling of cheap cigarettes. He had probably left the bar to pick up a new pack.

 

“Yes,” Hux inquired, trying to affect a countenance simultaneously displaying both indifference and callousness. He wasn’t quite sure if he succeeded.

 

“That’s my seat.”

 

“No, I do believe that yours,” Hux said, pointing to the stool where the jacket was now precariously dropping off of, “is over there.”

 

Hux could see the other man momentarily doubt himself, before shaking his head at him.

 

“No, that’s my seat.”

 

“Well, you’re quite welcome to sit in my lap.” Hux figured that it was an empty offer, that there was  _ no _ way that the other man would take him up on the challenge. What Hux  _ really _ wasn’t expecting, beyond having a warm lapful, was how  _ solid _ a lapful the other man made. Even through his meticulously distressed jeans, Hux could feel how muscular the other man was, which really didn’t do anything to help dissipate the heat pooling in his belly.

 

This close, Hux also got a closer whiff off of him, and it wasn’t just cheap cigarettes that Hux smelled. No, it was cheap  _ clove _ cigarettes. Honestly, the man in his lap was such a farce.

 

Hux swivelled the stool back around to face the counter, and with one hand resting high on the other man’s inner thigh--too high for propriety’s sake-- he reached for his drink with the other. But due to the other man being of a height with Hux--if not even a smidge taller--he had difficulty finding his drink, and his wrist collided with the other man’s elbow, and Hux’s cocktail was spilled all over the countertop.

 

“Shit,” Hux said at the exact same moment the other man said “sorry.”

 

When the other man cleared his throat, Hux could feel the reverberations in that broad chest of his, pressed against Hux’s.

 

“Sorry, I uh. I never got the hang of the whole, you know… spacial awareness thing. I’ll get you a fresh round.”

 

Hux, refusing to feel indebted to anyone, even for something as small as a grey goose martini, used his free hand to bat down the hand that was currently signalling Phasma.

 

“It’s okay, I was equally at fault.” He hadn’t been, but his words had the intended effect of mollifying the other man. “Let me get it.”

 

“You can get the round after, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

One thing led to another, and Hux found himself back at the other man’s apartment, which actually wasn’t the shithole that he had anticipated it would be. Not that Hux was paying much attention to his surroundings, as he was preoccupied by playing tonsil hockey with the six-foot-three mountain of a man and scrabbling at his clothing. That being said, the black v-neck Tee that he was wearing clung to him so tightly that Hux could see the man’s nipple piercing protruding out from underneath the flimsy cotton.

 

Hux gave it a cruel flick, and the man moaned into his mouth and practically crushed him with his weight as his knees buckled and he used Hux to regain his balance. As far as his top makeouts went, this didn’t even rank in the top 20, let alone higher. There was too much tongue and teeth and not enough technique, kind of like an oversized, overeager puppy. But what the other man lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm, and a willingness to please that Hux appreciated.

 

They had barely entered the apartment proper before Hux was digging his nails into the other man’s deliciously broad shoulders and forcing him to his kneel in front of him. The other man’s high pitched keen concerned Hux for a moment, worried that he had gone too far. But his anxieties were assuaged when the other man panted out a plea for more.

 

“Look at you,” Hux murmured, looking down his nose at the specimen at his feet. “Such a slut, already begging for more.”

 

“Yes, yes. Please, more. Anything.”

 

Hux affected his favourite countenance, the I’m-Better-Than-You-and-I-Know-It-and-Don’t-You-Forget-It mien that he had perfected over the years. It was mostly callously casual indifference, with a soupçon of contempt for good measure.

 

“Oh, but you haven’t  _ earned _ anything, yet.” Hux gestured to where his half-hard cock was starting to tent the fly of his trousers. “Get to work.”

 

The other man’s hands were large and clumsy, and trembling slightly as he attempted to undo Hux’s button fly, and Hux’s eyebrow raised disparagingly of its own accord. He was half-tempted to bat the other man’s hands away and just get on with it himself, but he had fisted his hands in the other man’s long, dark tresses, and was enjoying the reactions that sharply tugging elicited. He was so remarkably responsive, reduced to pants just like a bitch in heat at so very little. But, eventually,  _ finally _ , as if it was a Herculean task, Hux was freed from his trousers--just pulled out of his fly.

 

“Are you so desperate to choke on my cock that you couldn’t even bother undressing me properly?”

 

But the other man made no move to take it into his mouth, or indeed, even his hands, having dropped them and clenched them into fists after having had pulled Hux free.

 

Misinterpreting the other man’s pause as reticence rather than inexperience, Hux tugged his head forwards by his ears, like the manhandles they were.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Permission?”

 

This seemed to be indication enough of what Hux was expecting, and the other man raised a hand to uncertainly pump his length. It was clammy, and kind of cold, and Hux hissed through his teeth as his hips thrust into the too-tight grip. Still, Hux bore it for a few strokes, because as awful as the other man was at giving a handjob, Hux was enjoying the aesthetics of the man’s long, thick fingers wrapped around his length. Hux had never held any misapprehensions about his size, and nor did he measure his masculinity by it. But there was still something satisfying in seeing the way that the other man’s fingers were curled around him.

 

But eventually the dry friction got to be too much, just pumping up and down his shaft, and Hux began to grimace and bear it. The other man must have seen Hux’s pained look, because he uttered a quiet “sorry” and spat inelegantly into his palm before resuming his stroking. Well, that solved the lubrication problem, at least. But it was  _ boring _ , and it wasn’t going to be nearly enough to get him off. It had set the warmth in his belly at a low simmer at best, and it was going to take far too long to reach a roaring boil at this rate.

 

Hux moved one of his hands down the side of the other man’s face, stroking his face with an uncharacteristic softness before thrusting his thumb in between the man’s lips. They looked fantastic, wrapped around his thumb. They were so luscious, kiss-swollen and flushed. But they would look even better wrapped around his cock.

 

Hux was just about to remove his hand from the other man’s face and guide his dick into his mouth when the other man pulled his foreskin back too quickly. The discomfort from the over-tight grip, the chafing prior to the other man spitting on his hand to use as lube--those Hux could dismiss. But this,  _ no _ . This would not do.

 

With the hand still fisted in the man’s hair, Hux tugged it back so that his neck was bent at an uncomfortable angle, and with his other, backhanded him right across the cheek. The hand that was previously wrapped around Hux’s cock was released and went to stroke the cut on his cheek from Hux’s class ring on his pinky finger. It came away wet with a droplet of blood, and the other man looked down at it, as if confused by how it got there.

 

When he looked up at Hux, lips swollen, and pupils blown, it took all of Hux’s commendable self-control to not just fuck his face there and then.

 

“ _ Clueless _ . Useless. No, that’s not true. You do have one use, and that’s for your mouth to be fucked. Open up.” Surprisingly, the other man did.

 

It was warm and wet and  _ soft _ inside. Well, except for the teeth that the other man didn’t shield. They scraped and scored at his sensitive flesh. Hux knew that the other man had capitulated too easily, and if that’s how it was going to be, then Hux could fight dirty, too.

 

Hux lifted one of his legs so that the ball of his foot rested on the not-inconsiderate bulge in the other man’s ratty jeans, pressing in harder the more he balanced his weight on it. However, it didn’t have the effect that Hux was hoping for, and the other man began  _ frotting _ against the bottom of his shoe, thrusting up and grinding against it.

 

“You’re such a slut,” Hux spat, his voice coming out far too unmodulated for his liking. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself enough to continue, just letting the weight of his cock rest on the other man’s tongue. “You’re so eager to get off that you’d fuck my foot. It’s disgusting.  _ You’re _ disgusting.”

 

But, once again, this didn’t have the effect that Hux had intended, instead eliciting a whine that reverberated around his cock, sending vibrations that made his balls tingle pleasantly.

 

“You like that? You like being called disgusting? You like being so dirty and shameful that you get off on being used like this, like a glorified fuck-toy?”

 

Another whine, the other man’s throat relaxing enough for the head of Hux’s cock to touch it. He hadn’t been thrusting, simply sitting in the other man’s mouth, but, well, if the other man got off on this, who was Hux to deny him? Even if the other man had been frankly  _ terrible _ at handjobs, this wasn’t too bad. The slick slide of his dick as he moved in and out was maddening.

 

Drool was starting to seep out from the corners of the other man’s mouth, and tears were forming in the corners of his eyes.  _ What a sight. _

 

Hux didn’t realise that he had said that out loud until the other man keened, his throat constricting around him and setting off his gag reflex. Large hands pushed at Hux’s hips, trying to push him away, but Hux fought back by using one hand to pinch the other man’s nostrils while using the other to draw his head closer towards him.

 

“What a sight,” Hux said again, this time knowingly aloud. “You should see yourself. How beautiful you are like this, with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

 

Hux was too busy chasing his pleasure in the smooth glide of his cock in and out of the other man’s mouth to notice the hand moving away from his hip in preparation to hit him where it hurts. The other man had put a lot of his considerable weight behind it, and the force behind the punch sent Hux staggering back against the door. He didn’t weep from the pain, but that was only because landing against the door had forced the air from his lungs so he had none to sob with.

  
Hastily tucking himself back into his trousers, Hux left the apartment, forcefully ignoring the other man’s profuse apologies and pleads for him to return.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a friend was having a bad day and so this is a gift
> 
>  
> 
> ~~absolutely not because I crave the Gratification~~

This week was already shaping up to be infinitely better. His day was running according to schedule, he hadn’t bumped into any potential ill-advised paramours on the road, and his regular seat wasn’t occupied. The icing on the cake, though, would have to be the show that he was being treated to, courtesy of Phasma, as he sipped from his Grey Goose martini.

 

Some drunken asshole had started hitting on her. Hux didn’t catch the exact line used over the general cacophony of conversation and the throbbing beat of the music, but he recognised the look in her eye as one that he was glad to have never been on the receiving end of.

 

“What’s your name, sweet thing?” She crooned, sickly sweet.

 

“Arthur.”

 

Phasma nodded in idle acknowledgment as she presumably scribbled that name onto a whole watermelon with a black Sharpie.

 

“Here, hold this, Artie” she said whilst thrusting the watermelon ungently into his hands. In a fluid movement denoting that this was a practiced maneuver, Phasma gracefully vaulted on top of the counter.

 

Once she had positioned herself sitting comfortably square on top of it, she reached out to retrieve the watermelon back again.

 

“So, Arthur,” Phasma began, tucking the watermelon neatly between her thighs. “You want between my legs?”

  
She made a great show of readjusting the watermelon to show the caricature of Arthur that she had drawn on it. It wasn’t a bad job for the grand thirty seconds that she had spent on it, Hux mused. It was also a mite more attractive than its inspiration.

 

It didn’t take long for Phasma to crush the watermelon along with Arthur’s hopes of getting into her pants. She barely even had to strain. It was always fascinating seeing the strength that she held, and if Phasma wasn’t already in a committed, monogamous,  _ Lesbian _ relationship, Hux would have made his move on her long ago.

 

It was also always great fun to see whatever asshole that had hit on her tuck tail and run away.

 

“Hey, Molly!” Phasma called out to the other bartender, “I’m going to go get changed, can you hold the bar on your own?”

 

“Sure, babe,” Molly responded with a nod. “I got this.”

 

Hux was about to order his second drink--when had he even finished the first?--when someone took the seat beside him. Hux surreptitiously looked over through the corner of his eye and… oh.  _ Oh no _ . It wasn’t just  _ anyone _ , either. It was  _ him _ .

 

Hux did his best to ignore  _ him _ even when  _ he _ leaned on the bar and tried to make eye contact.

 

_ He _ cleared his throat, obviously expecting Hux to reflexively look at where the noise was coming from, and Hux couldn’t help but smirk vindictively when his face fell in grudging respect and disappointment when his “cunning” plan failed.

 

“So I take it that you don’t want to come around to my place for round two?”

 

Hux’s head had swung around before he realised it, and was boggling at the other man.

 

“Round  _ two _ ? We didn’t even finish round  _ one! _ ”

 

“Well that’s because  _ someone _ left!”

 

“Because you punched me in the nuts!”

 

“I couldn’t  _ breathe! _ ”

 

Hux just looked at the other man in disbelief and distaste.

 

“Whatever, I have no inclinations of returning to your abode for a round two, or even to finish round one.”

 

“How about a quickie in the bathroom, then?” The other man was looking earnestly at Hux, blinking those big, brown eyes of his and pouting slightly. Hux could tell that he wasn’t going to be deterred, and really, after the failed experiment of last week it had been nearly two weeks since he had gotten off last, and Hux’s cock twitched in his silken underwear.

 

“Fine, but if you don’t come in under ten minutes, you’re on your own.”

 

The other man gave Hux a mock salute and dragged him by the wrist to the bathrooms. Unfortunately, the unisex/ambulant bathroom was already…  _ occupied _ , so the other man dragged Hux into the male bathrooms and all but shoved him in the nearest cubicle.

 

Hux wanted to protest against the manhandling, but being thrown around so easily was oddly  _ relaxing _ in a way. After needing to be in control every moment of the week so far, being able to  _ cede _ control like this was… refreshing.

 

But he couldn’t have the other man know that, so Hux nominally shoved at his shoulders, fully realising that his little arms couldn’t budge the brick wall of a body in the least.

 

When the other man moved to undo Hux’s fly, Hux swatted his hands away.

 

“I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself, you just worry about  _ yourself _ .” The other man snorted and gathered both of Hux’s wrists in one of his oversized hands, and pinned them on the cubicle wall above his head. The other man leaned down to nip just below Hux’s jaw when he whimpered, and chuckled when he nuzzled against the nascent stubble growing there.

 

“You like that, do you? When I take control?”

 

“A-absolutely  _ not _ ,” Hux protested, but then the other man just moved his free hand to squeeze at where Hux’s body was betraying him.

 

“Really? This says otherwise.” Hux’s hips stuttered forward of their own accord as he shuddered out a breath.

 

“Well you’d be hard too, if someone was fondling you.”

 

The other man stepped back--well, as far back as the cramped conditions of the cubicle stall would allow--and while he removed the hand that had been caressing Hux’s cock through his clothing, he kept Hux’s wrists tightly pinned, still.

 

“What? What are you doing? Come back here!” Though Hux tried to sound commanding, he knew that with the way that splotches of colour were blooming high on his cheeks, the way that his breath was coming in rapid pants and the way that his pupils were blown wide and he was licking his hips, he must have seemed more like a wanton harlot than an imperious figure.

 

The other man gave a thoughtful hum before shaking his head.

 

“No. Not until you ask me.  _ Nicely. _ ”

 

Hux turned his head into his shoulder.

 

“Please come back here,” he mumbled petulantly.

 

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

 

Hux let out a groan of frustration. He knew that if he gave this man an inch, he’d take a parsec. Hux struggled briefly against the grip on his wrists, but the other man held tight--not tight enough to cause any damage if Hux  _ really _ struggled--but some deep, dark corner of his mind suppressed him from exerting his full efforts. In some perverted, profane way, he  _ wanted _ to be subjugated.

 

When he came to that realisation, all the fight left Hux, and he sagged against the stall wall as much as he could while still remaining upright. The other man could evidently tell, too, as he stepped back towards Hux and pressed their hips flush against each-other. 

 

Hux shifted his own hips forwards slightly, trying to seek out a bit of friction, but the other man pulled his own back, so he was curved over Hux. He squeezed Hux’s wrists tightly, and with the other hand, gripped Hux’s hip roughly enough that Hux was certain he would find imprints of the other man’s hand when Hux got home.

 

“Can you be good?” The other man paused and bit his lip, as if barely refraining from saying anything further. In the end, it seemed that the other man decided to say it anyway, as he opened his mouth once more.

 

“Can you be good for Daddy?”

 

Getting the hint from the pressure on his wrist and his hip, Hux nodded avidly.

 

“I need to hear you say it.”

 

“Yes,” Hux breathed. “Yes, I’ll be good for Daddy.”

 

Seemingly satisfied, the other man nodded, and dropped his hands, spinning away from Hux. Hux was just about to protest but then he practically slammed his buttocks against Hux’s cock, and he groaned.

 

Embarrassed at the sheer volume of the noise he had made, Hux wanted to bite his fist, but he had promised this infernally irritating man that he would be  _ good _ , so he bit down on his lip, instead.

 

He successfully bit off his next groan when the other man rolled his hips in just the right way so that the entire crease of his rear rubbed against Hux’s length, and the other man was evidently displeased, judging by the way that he spun back around and placed his hands beside Hux’s shoulders.

 

“No, I want to hear you. I want everyone in this  _ bar _ to hear you.”

 

“Please,” Hux begged brokenly.

 

“Please what?”

 

“Please, just,  _ anything _ . I wanna come… Please,  _ Daddy _ .”

 

Even over the sound of his own heaving breath and rapid heartbeat resounding in his ears, Hux could hear the way that the other man’s breath hitched at the petname.

 

“Good… good boy,” the other man panted while using one hand to fumble with his fly and the other hand to fumble with Hux’s. Before Hux could really register what was happening, he was awash in sensation, with the other man suckling at his pulse point--and surely leaving a mark, but in his pleasured haze Hux didn’t care--and fisting at both of their cocks together.

 

The other man was beyond huge, and even Hux’s pernicious powerbottom of an ass felt reticent about the possibility of it perhaps splitting him open one day.

 

But no, that would never happen. Hux had a one-time only rule, and he was already breaking it now. It would  _ not _ happen again.

 

It didn’t take Hux long, he was pent up after two weeks and there was something about the dingy ambience of doing this in a bar bathroom, and Hux was coming all over himself and the other man. What a pity, the shirt he was wearing had been one of his favorites, too.

 

After the other man had added to the mess on their bellies and given Hux a sloppy kiss, Hux tucked himself back in and did his best to mop up the mess on his shirt, sighing when it was a lost cause.

 

“So what do you say we go back to my place for a round two, huh?”

 

Hux didn’t deign to respond to him, neatly exiting the cubicle stall while the other man still had his softening cock hanging out from his fly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we have a filler chapter. how can a chapter be a filler chapter if I have no plot? WHO KNOWS. not me!

Hux didn’t return to  _ Barkiller _ the next week, or the week after, either. It wasn’t that he was trying to avoid it, he was simply too busy to visit. He did sort of wonder after Phasma and Molly, and even Mitaka as--sad as it was--they were the closest things to friends that Hux had.

 

In fact, Hux was only at this new bar,  _ The Thirst Order _ because it was right around the corner from his office at Krennic-Thrawn-Hux International, and it was the last night that the senior partners from the London office were in New York. So, as a name partner, Hux was behooved to entertain his guests, and that meant taking them out for a night on the town.

  
  
It was one of those bars styled in that elite-affecting-shab-chic that tried to downplay its wealth through  _ artfully distressed furnitures _ that seemed to be en vogue amongst the more  _ beau-monde _ establishments as of late. It gave its goers the illusion they weren't as affluent as those around them believed. Or, rather, as Hux cast an eye around, trying to keep his sneer of distaste off of his lips, how the 1% perceived that squalor.

 

Hux, frankly, was quite offended at the décor, at the fact that rich arseholes would willingly pay money to ape at that situation for the sake of  _ fashion… _

 

But Unamo, his personal assistant, had told him that it had good Yelp reviews, and that was why he found himself at the bar getting his palm “read” by a blonde in a gaudy  _ bindi _ , the henna on her own hands a stark contrast against her crooked golden and bejeweled stiletto-shaped fake nails.

 

Honestly, all Hux wanted was a bottle of their Macallan 25, not this trite new-aged “mysticism.”

 

“And this is your love line,” the blonde said, scraping the tip of an acrylic fingernail across the crease of Hux’s palm. She leaned forwards onto her elbows and her ample, surgically improved bosom nearly fell out of her spaghetti-string tank top. Hux stared, blatantly, but more out of confusion than attraction. How on God’s green earth were they staying in? Were they taped to the inside of her top?

 

Unfortunately, the blonde misinterpreted Hux’s stare, and used her other hand to sweep her hair back over her shoulder in a well-practiced flip.

 

“Do you see how it doesn’t meet your happiness line? That means that your groin chakra is blocked.” The blonde fluttered her eyelashes at Hux, and he snatched his hand back away from her grasp. “I could help with that.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Hux tried to say, as politely as possible, looking away from the blonde to the other bartender who had a total uncanny valley effect going on. “You’re not my type.”

 

“Blonde? I’m bare downstairs. It’s better for the groin chakra that way.”

 

Hux coughed lightly into his fist and tried to make eye contact with the other barkeeper, who had, perhaps, at one point been Caucasian, but through elective plastic surgery had recreated himself into some sort of attempt at an approximation of an Eastern Asian.

 

“Yo’, what up dawg?” Oh, good, Hux thought to himself. A white boy playing at being an Asian playing at being Black.

 

“A bottle of Macallan 25, please,” Hux asked the second bartender, studiously avoiding the way that the blonde was now pouting at him with her violently pink botoxed lips that were a shade not that dissimilar to her blush.

 

Even in the corner of his eye, her bleached teeth biting her lower lip just made the colour pop out that much more.

 

“Too de’ sweet, homie!” The bartender said, flashing some sort of gesture with his hands that had so many rings that he couldn’t even bend his fingers properly, which would surely be obscene in more civilized corners of the world.

 

Then he turned around with a jangling of the several heavy, surely  _ real _ golden chains around his neck, and Hux’s eyes roll up to the ceiling when he’s graced with a flash of far more of the man’s underwear than he had  _ ever  _ needed, or even wanted. The flash would be seared onto his retinas until his dying days.

 

They were navy blue, with penguins in bow-ties.

 

Hux took out his money clip when he heard the dull thud of the bottle being placed on the counter in front of him, and threw what was probably too many bills at the bartender as he didn’t bother counting them before walking away.

 

Thankfully, Krennic and Thrawn had sequestered themselves into a booth in a secluded corner of the room, and even though the red vinyl seat covers looked tacky, they did at least look  _ comfortable _ . 

 

It wasn’t until Hux was sitting down across from his other name-partners that he realised he had forgotten to acquire glasses from which to sip the scotch.  _ Fuck _ .

 

“Distracted by the pretty barkeep, eh?” Thrawn asked in his lilting accent. Even after nearly thirty years in English-speaking countries, he still hadn’t lost the final vestiges of his Mongolian accent. 

 

Hux scoffed, even as his eyes flicked back over to the bar where the blonde was trying to reach something off of a high shelf. While she may have shaves her pubic hair, she most definitely  _ didn’t _ shave her armpits. In fact… were those little beads braided in?

 

“It’s okay, Mit--” Orson cut himself off when he saw Hux’s glare. “ _ Hux _ . Mitth’raw’nuruodo and I won’t be staying for long, we just thought we’d do you the courtesy of telling you this directly rather than you finding out in a company-wide memo like everyone else. As a name-partner, you deserve that much.”

 

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand?” Hux maintained a façade of calm collection, but his heart rate had picked up and he struggled to moderate his breathing. What was this about? He wracked his brain over all the fine-print on his contract that he had meticulously memorised. He was protected against being  _ fired _ just like this, like a mere junior partner--

 

“I’m retiring. Well, more specifically, returning to prosecuting,” Krennic said. “You’ll still be name-partner, just at Thrawn-Hux, international. I’ll be dividing my clients between you and Thrawn.”

 

Hux didn’t know what to say. He supposed that he should say ‘thank you.’

 

So, “thank you,” he said.

 

Krennic nodded, because while he was (in)famous for his circumlocution in the court, he wasn’t one to mince words when they could be avoided. Hux rather admired that about the man.

 

“Will I still need to get you a present for the office Christmas party?”

 

Krennic and Thrawn laughed, and Thrawn tapped Hux hard on the shoulder, as he stood to leave.

 

Hux sighed when he was alone, and considered cracking open the bottle and swigging from it directly. He also considered just going directly home. But it was the third Friday of the Month, and that meant that it was Live Music Night at  _ Barkiller _ , and the night was young yet.

 

* * *

 

Hux didn’t go to  _ Barkiller _ . When he flagged down a cab, his own address came tumbling out of his mouth in a rush of words. He could have changed destinations, but all of a sudden, Hux felt so  _ tired _ . Next week, though, he promised himself. 

 

By then it would have been a month since he had last been--far too long, really. He missed the way that Phasma twisted the lemon rinds for his martinis. He had tried making his own at home those two Fridays that he had been “too busy” to go to  _ Barkiller _ , but had given up, and just started pouring vodka directly into his martini glass and not bothering with the vermouth or the lemon rind.

 

Also, spending a month away from his favorite bar just because he was afraid of running into a past hook-up was unlike Hux, and he refused to… well,  _ keep _ refusing to go to  _ Barkiller _ over something so silly.

 

Next month, he promised himself, as he counted out bills to pay and tip the cabbie, and cursed to himself when he had seen that he had paid way more for the Macallan than he should have. It’s not like those bartenders needed the gratuity, either.

 

Whatever, Hux essentially made that much brushing his teeth in the morning. He nodded to his doorman as he entered his building, Snap. Hux had almost made it to the elevator, when suddenly the bottle of Macallan felt heavy in his hand.

 

He looked down at it as he pressed the button with its lid. Really, he didn’t even  _ like _ scotch, anyway. He had just gotten it because he thought that Krennic and Thrawn might like it.

 

Snap coughed, and gears began to turn in Hux’s head. He wasn’t  _ friends _ with Snap. Not really. But Hux knew enough about Snap to be able to fill out a deposition, if it were ever needed. The elevator doors opened in front of him. Hux stepped inside. As he turned around, he saw Snap greet Maz Kanata, who lived a few floors below Hux, and the elevator doors began to close.

 

He shot out an arm to hold them open long enough for Maz to enter the elevator, and they began to close again.

 

He shot out his arm to open them again, and with a few purposeful strides, was over by Snap at the entrance. Hux held out the Macallan tentatively to Snap, who looked up from the scotch to Hux, and back down to the scotch.

 

“Here. For you.”

 

“Thanks?” Snap responded, his confusion evident in his tone.

 

“As a… Christmas present.” Wait, what was Hux doing? He had no need to explain himself, his actions.

 

“It’s August.”

 

“A  _ very _ early Christmas present, then.”

 

“Well, thanks, but I’m Jewish, actually.”

 

“Then it’s an early Chanukah present. A belated Bar Mitzvah gift. Whatever, I don’t care. Just don’t drink it on shift.”

 

Hux nodded and turned away to take a step--but Snap had gently grabbed his blazer by the elbow.

 

“You know, you actually have to  _ give _ the gifts to people.”

 

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Hux gingerly thrust the bottle back at Snap, who took it gratefully from Hux.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Sure, no problem.”

 

When he got back to the elevator, it was much to his surprise that Maz had kept the elevator doors open for him.

 

“Thanks,” he said, nodding stiffly at her. She just blinked up at him.

 

He pressed the button for his floor and the doors were closing and in their shiny, brassy reflections, he could see that Maz had taken off her glasses and were wiping them on her sundress.

 

When he accidentally met her eyes in the reflection, he frantically flicked them away to see that they were only on floor three. Still six to go…

 

“Your eyes are the ones of a different man, today,” Maz told Hux.  _ Honestly _ , how much mumbo-jumbo was he going to be forced to listen to today? “You have the eyes of a man who is no longer lonely. I hope they treat you right.”

 

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened on floor six. Maz got out, nodding once to Hux, leaving him alone with his thoughts and Bach’s  _ Air on a G String. _

 

When Hux _finally_ fucking got to his apartment, for once in his life, he didn’t bother untying the laces on his Oxfords. He just toed them off by the door and threw his blazer over the back of the sofa while one-handedly undoing the knot of his tie as he makes his way to the bathroom.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we return to the porn! if you count 2k words of hux bathing and shaving as porn, of course. which i do.

Not for the first time, Hux thanked his ability of foresight, as he reclined back in his brass clawfoot tub and the delicately jasmine-scented bubbles that were all the way up to his chin. He swiped away the ones that were clinging to his beard around his mouth, and took a sip of the moscato rosa that he had poured into a sippy-cup while he was drawing the bath--barely enough to wet his lips. He licked them after, chasing the sweet taste, and he sighed as he stretched out under the water.

 

_ What a strange day _ .

 

He didn’t regret not going to  _ Barkiller _ after all, though, not when the warm water soaked into his weary bones. At 32, he was much too old to be pulling 18-hour days 7 days a week. At the very least, he needed to try and reduce the amount of time that he spent working so he could get back into exercising, Hux thought, as he splayed his fingers over the pouch beginning to form on his stomach.

 

But, really, as a name partner at one of the world’s most prestigious international law-firms, at the prodigious age of  _ 32 _ , a little extra cushioning was to be expected. Besides, it wasn’t like he smoked, or did any manner of stimulants that the senior partners would surely be doing if not for the stringent anti-drug policies at his firm… a little tipple here and there was an innocuous vice in comparison.

 

Hux took another sip, and blew some of the bubbles away from his face. They were carried on the currents of his breath a good few inches before landing almost weightlessly on the large, white expanse of the rest of the bubbles, rolling like sand dunes on top of the surface of the bath.

 

He squeezed the pouch of his stomach. Maybe he could start doing a couple of crunches in the morning and before bed. It’s not like he really needed to diet, subsisting mostly on coffee and spite, anyway. Though, it’s not like he really had the time for exercise. With Krennic retiring and giving Hux half of his clients, his already laden plate would soon be stacked to overflowing.

 

He would probably have to hire a couple of more interns, and a handful of new paralegals to keep up with the extra legwork. He’d have to remember to discuss it with Unamo in the morrow.

 

There was a particularly large bubble just above his knee. Careful so as to disturb the water as little as possible, Hux lifted his arm and poked it.

 

It refused to pop.

 

He poked it again.

 

It still didn’t pop.

 

Hux slammed his hand on top of it, splashing water and bubbles over the sides of his tub.

 

That did the trick.

 

Hux smiled in satisfaction and took another sip of his moscato, the cool wine sliding down his throat in a pleasant contrast to the warm, sticky humidity of the bathroom, and the hot water caressing his skin.

 

His butt crack itched. In the privacy of his own bathroom, all alone, Hux allowed himself to indulge in scratching it. Twisting around so that he could reach it, the water sloshed all around him, and he got some bubbles up his nose.

 

He would have to remember not to use so much of the bubble bath next time he used it--whenever  _ that _ was. Working 18 hour work days meant that he rarely had time to luxuriate in this fashion, instead opting for a perfunctory shower at the start and end of each day, allowing four hours of sleep.

 

In fact, the last time he could remember  _ taking _ a bath, was at the start of the New Year, when he had taken his annual leave. Shame.

 

The sippy cup slipped out of his hands and fell in the bath.

 

Hux sighed before fishing it out. Or trying to, at any rate. It slipped past his left hand and behind his back, the handle digging in awkwardly to his hip, and when he tried to pincer it with his right hand it just shot past his left and skirted around the edge of the tub.

 

Hux sighed again, resigned to grabbing it later, after he’d emptied the bath.

 

He reclined back into the tub, trying to get comfortable, and his  _ eyelids _ were so  _ heavy _ and it was getting harder and harder to fight to keep them open, lulled by the quiet echoes of  _ The Water Goblin _ by Dvorak and the sweet scent of the bubble bath wafting through the warm air…

 

…He had closed his eyes for just a mere moment, and yet, when he opened them again, the bubbles had been reduced to an archipelago of lone islands. There was one on his right knee, and one sheltering his modesty, and also a smattering of them across his chest and by his feet. He could almost see the accursed sippy cup through the milky water--how had it ended up all the way by his ankle?

 

But the water had grown tepid, and Hux was certain that if he were to look at his hands and feet, they would be pruned beyond all recognition. He was stiff in getting up and stepping out of the tub, and nearly slipped on some of the water he had carelessly splashed out of the tub. He’d have to remember to clean it before it stained the grout.

 

He wrapped a towel around his waist and plodded over to the mirror, stroking his beard as he appraised himself. It had been rather cumbersome lately, both in terms of maintenance and in terms of it being absurdly hot in the summer.

 

Well, whatever. Tonight had been all about self-indulgence, anyway, he might as well take the opportunity while he had it to indulge just a little bit more in a good old-fashioned straight-razor shave.

 

He dropped his towel from around his waist, and dried his feet on it, before walking out to his linen closet and selecting two washcloths and a hand towel. He also made a brief stop in the kitchen to grab the bottle of moscato rosa from the fridge.

 

He returned to the bathroom and set everything down bar one of the washcloths, running it under the hottest water that he could stand before wringing it out and rubbing it over his lower face and beard. Carefully balancing it, he tilted his head back just slightly to keep it on his face as he reached to the corner of the countertop where his shaving kit lay.

 

Hux gently picked up his badger brush and his soap holder, and ran the badger brush under the tap to wet it slightly. He spent a good few minutes circling the brush over his shaving soap, ensuring that he worked up a good, thick lather.

 

He set the wet washcloth on the countertop, hanging off of the edge of the sink, and snuck in a quick swig of wine before he began lathering his face with the badger brush, starting at his adam’s apple and working his way towards his chin. Always in the same, standard, circular motion. Slow, and strong, lathering it thickly.

 

He had to reapply the soap twice to his brush before he was content with the lather he had on his chin, and started lathering up the right side of his face--up his chin, stopping just below where he wanted his sideburns to be. Hux repeated the motions on the left side of his face, and then, finally, with one last application of the badger brush to the shaving soap, lathered up his upper lip, careful not to get any in his nostrils.

 

He set both the soap and his brush down on the counter, and picked up his straight razor, admiring the edge of it for a moment. It was such a beautiful piece of damascus steel, it was truly a shame he didn’t make the most of it more often.

 

Starting at the apex of his chin, Hux shaved back towards his throat, following the grain of his beard. It was slow work, since his beard was so thick and lush, and he had to scrape off the mess of shaving foam and shaved hair on the hand towel several times before he had made it to the base of his throat. He ran the back of his knuckle along it, the stubble barely scratching at his finger. It was sufficient enough for the first pass.

 

Once more, he started on his right side, following the grain of his beard from near his ear down to chin, scraping off the excess onto the hand towel as he needed to, and continuing on to his left. He had successfully managed to shave most of his face before he nicked himself, an inopportunely timed yawn causing Hux to barely cut just above his upper lip while passing over it with the edge of his straight razor.

 

He hissed and leaned forward into the mirror to observe the damage, but it was hardly bleeding and looked like what little blood  _ was _ trickling out of the small scratch would staunch on its own. 

 

Hux used the still-damp washcloth from before to wipe at his face, removing any residual shaving foam. Without looking, he tossed the washcloth into the laundry hamper besides the sink, and reached for the other dry one.

 

With one hand, he wet and wrung that one, too, while with the other, he took another swig of wine--and where did the first half of the bottle go? Though that did explain why he was feeling warm low in his belly and everything was slightly blurred around the edges.

 

He held the washcloth with one hand as he set the wine down and used the other one to grab and open his shaving oil. Shaving himself like this was always such a tribulation, but there was no-one that he trusted enough to do it for him.

 

Again, he placed it on the edge of the sink, and gently dabbed the shaving oil against his skin, ensuring that he had a nice, even coating all over his face and throat. Hux wiped his straight razor once more on the hand towel and brought the edge again to his face, this time shaving against the grain.

 

Most of the hard yards were already done by this point, and his razor glided easily over his skin. This time, when he rubbed the back of his knuckle against it, there was nothing to catch on it. Smooth. Almost perfectly so, except for that one cut above his lip.

 

It was tiny, though, almost imperceptibly so, and only Hux would be able to tell that it was there.

 

He wiped his straight razor on the hand towel again before putting the razor away, and throwing the towel into the hamper. He wiped his face with the wet washcloth before throwing  _ that _ into the hamper, too.

 

Even though he wasn’t going anywhere besides bed, Hux still took the opportunity to apply some of his aftershave, which smelled like pine and mint. Or so the perfumier had told him. Hux just liked the way that it smelled crisp, and fresh.

 

Bed. Bed sounded like  _ such _ a great idea. He promised himself that he’d clean up the mess of water from the tub, and wash the sippy cup in the morning.

 

He finished his wine in a couple of quick gulps, almost sputtering, and did a half-hearted job of brushing his teeth.

 

_ Bed _ .


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and back to our ~~ir~~ regularly scheduled porn!

Hux hardly ever remembered his dreams, which is what made it all the more frustrating for him when he woke up flushed, hard, and  _ wanting _ .

 

Wanting what, though?

 

Hux took a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. But still, his ardor did not dissipate, and his cock hung heavy between his legs. He snaked his hand down to squeeze it through his sheet and boxers, and lazily thrust up into it a couple times. The friction was pleasant, and he sighed contentedly as he rutted up against his hand, still too asleep for anything more.

 

On one thrust, though, he got the angle a bit weird, and Hux ended up stroking his cock with the heel of his palm and  _ oh _ . His other hand flew to his mouth so he could bite down his moan on a finger, even though there was no-one else to hear.

 

He palmed his cock more intentionally, this time, biting down harder on his finger when another sound threatened to escape, the pain merging with the pleasure. Hux sighed again.

 

For some reason, that rush of air over his finger was enough to trigger--not quite a memory perhaps, but something close--from his dream. Just barely more than an exhalation warm, damp breath from between luscious lips.

 

Hux imagined those lips pressed against his own, trailing down his throat, suckling on his nipple where he suddenly felt a sharp pain. Oh! He had pinched his own nipple!

 

He did it again, and grunted as it drove his hips up against his hand.

 

From his nipple, Hux’s imagination wandered to those thick lips kissing their way down his stomach to wrap themselves around his cock, and suddenly, the dry friction of thrusting against his hand through his underwear and sheets wasn’t enough. Hux licked his palm and snaked his arm down his body into his boxers, and took himself in hand with a firm grip.

 

It wasn’t wet enough, nowhere near the wet heat of someone’s mouth, but as Hux’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, in his mind’s eye he saw a shock of messy, black hair as he imagined plump lips.

 

Of course, the first person that Hux’s mind went to after combining those two traits was  _ him _ , the man from  _ Barkiller _ those weeks back, and after steadfastly refusing to think of him, to allow him to come into his fantasies unbidden like that was simply  _ infuriating _ .

 

Instead, Hux delved into his spank bank and tried to conjure up someone else. But who?

 

The first person to spring to mind was Sebastian Stan, Hux’s go-to wank material since he was old enough to know what wanking was, it seemed. Hux imagined stubble over a square jaw scraping at the tender skin of the inside of his thighs, he imagined tugging at long hair to convince him deeper on his cock…

 

But when Hux imagined honey-brown eyes instead of blue looking up at him from under lowered lashes, he groaned--not out of pleasure, but out of frustration.

 

Hux pulled his hair as he pulled at his cock, searching for some other way to fantasise that wouldn’t inevitably lead back to  _ him _ .

 

Hux imagined himself astride someone thick, no, someone  _ huge _ , and tan, riding them reverse-cowgirl so he could see their toes twitching each time Hux slammed his hips down on their cock, Hux’s hands on their knees to help stabilise himself.

 

As Hux imagined himself riding their cock faster and faster, the hand on his cock worked faster, too, and his other untangled itself from his damp tresses to his throat. Placing the crook between his index finger and thumb at the apex of it so that he could feel his hammering pulse beating on either side of his bobbing throat each time he swallowed, Hux  _ squeezed _ .

 

Not much, but just enough for the world to take on a slight glimmer--the sounds of his ragged breathing seemed louder, the sensation of his hand on his cock seemed  _ stronger _ \--

 

But then he was no longer riding the Rock, instead he found himself on his back, with a huge, pale hand wrapped around his throat while shaggy black hair dangled in his face and thick hips pistoned in and out, pounding his ass mercilessly into to mattress.

 

“Say my name,” the spectral version of  _ him _ beseeched of Hux.

 

“I don’t know it!” Hux tried to protest on what little air wasn’t slammed out of his lungs with each thrust.

 

“Say my name! Please!”

 

“I don’t know your name!”

 

“I want to hear you say my name when you come!”

 

Hux did. Then he woke up.

 

This time, he  _ did _ actually wake up, this time, sticky and spent rather than hard and wanting.

 

He groaned in distaste, and turned his head just enough to be able to read the numbers on his alarm clock. 5:02. He needed to be up in 28 minutes.

 

But through the haze of post-orgasmic bliss and the miasma of sleep, Hux found he couldn’t care less. He flopped onto his stomach and groped around for his phone before blindly sending Unamo a text that--hopefully--said that he wouldn’t be in today, and, for once in his life, went back to sleep rather than getting up to change his sheets and deal with the mess of crusted come.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Hux had managed to sleep through 17 missed calls and 38 texts from Unamo, because, apparently, he had ended up typing “bottom coming I’m today taking or odd,” rather than “not coming in today taking it off,” and the irregularity of Hux calling in--or, rather, actually taking the weekend--combined with autocorrect’s failure at actually  _ correcting _ his half-asleep, probably still half-drunk text was cause for concern for his PA.

 

It wasn’t until almost noon, once he  _ had _ done laundry and cleaned up the bathroom, that he ended up calling her back, and she picked up on the first ring.

 

“Who was it? People traffickers? Organ harvesters? Cultists?”

 

“It was Colonel Mustard in the Library with the Candlestick.”

 

“I knew it!” gasped Unamo. “But seriously, what kind of cocktails were you on last night?  Because I feel it is my duty to ensure that you never drink one again, unless it’s at the staff Christmas party, and in front of all of the senior partners.”

 

Hux chewed his lip while deliberating how to answer. He’d never hear the end of Unamo’s teasing if he told her that it was only a bottle of moscato rosa, and an awkward wet-dream.

 

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter, everyone knows that Krennic and Thrawn go  _ hard _ so it’s little surprised that you got so fucked up. In fact, why don’t you take tomorrow off, too? I’d say take Monday and the rest of the week off, but there’s an important meeting on Monday that you need to be there for. Now that I know you’re alive, I’ll call back the veritable army of psychics and dicks I hired to hunt you down. I’ll lose my security deposits but I put them all on the company credit card, anyway.”

 

Then Unamo hung up, and Hux stared at his phone in his hand for a minute.

 

Okay, maybe it was more like five, just staring unblinkingly and uncomprehendingly at the deceptively flimsy little piece of technology in his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note that there are several warnings for this chapter.
> 
> firstly, contains dubcon due to intoxication (both alcohol and cocaine)
> 
> this chapter also contains rape/non-con elements, but not between the kylo and hux.
> 
> same with the depiction of violence.
> 
> neither are very graphic, and these aspects aren't very significant to the greater narrative. but if you need to skip this chapter for your mental health, i totally understand, and you can feel free to hmu on the tumbles under the same name if you want to know what you've missed.

Hux had no idea what to do with himself. While he was on vacation, he usually went somewhere and did the whole tourist-shtick, but even though he was a stranger in his own home, there wasn’t much to do. He kept the place pretty immaculate, and he hired a housekeeper on top of that.

 

So after scrubbing at the grout of the bathroom with a toothbrush for a good forty-minutes, Hux found himself without much to do. Swapping the laundry and putting it away and changing the sheets on his bed had only taken another half-hour all up, so it was only two p.m. by the time he had run out of things to do.

 

He organised his record collection according to genre, artist, and critical reception of the album, and when that was done he flipped on daytime T.V and flipped it off again to rearrange his record collection according to alphabetical order of the colour of the album cover.

 

When it was six p.m. and he realised that he hadn’t eaten anything at all yet that day, he Googled local Chinese places that deliver and then he decided that he didn’t like the look of the menu, so he decided on pizza instead but then he spent half an hour trying to find a way to merge the tastes of prawns and feta together because the store he wanted to go to was out of bell peppers, finally settling on Thai.

 

When ordering, Hux had just given his address and requested “whatever,” and so the delivery girl showed up and gave him a bag of food that was probably enough to last him until the apocalypse. In return, he gave her a tip that was probably all of her Christmases and Birthdays come at once and waved her off before slamming the door in her face and setting up camp in the middle of his lounge room floor.

 

Three hours later and Hux had stuffed himself so silly that the Old Ones themselves could arise from the Deep and Hux would not care one whit, so satiated was he. He could barely lift his ass high enough to pull his phone out of his pocket when it started ringing.

 

“Yeah?” he answered it, not bothering to check the caller ID, just swiping his thumb over the “accept” button. There weren’t that many people who had his personal number, anyway.

 

“I heard that you took the weekend off for once, but I’m glad to hear that the rumours of your untimely demise are untrue.” Ah, it was Thanisson, his brother-in-law.

 

“This could be a recording for all you know. Poor Millie, though, wait until she finds out that I wrote her out of my will because she had eaten the last marshmallow back in December 2002.”

 

“I’ll bury you alive in marshmallows so you can rot in sugary hell, brother dearest,” Mille called out to him, her voice slightly warbled. Thanisson must have him on speakerphone, then.

 

“And I’ll make sure that you have the Pillsbury Dough Boy as the figure on your headstone, darling. How’s the breeding going, by the way? Have you eclipsed the Hindenburg in terms of girth yet?”

 

“I’ll be popping him out any day now, and I’ll be naming him Brendol Armitage after the two most annoying men in my life.”

 

“Hey, what about me?” Thanisson called out.

 

“You’re not a man, dear, you’re a boy.” The unmistakeable wet smacking sound of a kiss being blown played through Hux’s phone speakers.

 

“How did you hear about my day off today, anyway?” Hux asked after a long lull in their conversations.

 

“Unamo,” Millicent and Thanisson said unanimously.

 

“I should have hired her years ago to be our mother,” Hux groaned. Hux was about to say something further but he was interrupted by Millicent shouting out “Than!” following a loud splash.

 

“We have to go, it looks like labour’s starting.”

 

“It figures that Millicent would do something so dramatic as give birth to get out of talking to me.”

 

Thanisson just laughed and hung up on Hux.

 

His earlier malaise from eating so much had worn off in favour of nervous anticipation, and he spent a good hour pacing around his apartment.

 

Modern medicine had done  _ marvels _ for making childbirth easier, more manageable, but like Hux himself, Millie had always been slight. What if she was one of the few that had… trouble? She was most of everything that he had left in the world, he couldn’t bear to lose her, too… 

 

But thinking like this, thinking in circles, was only going to stress him out more. He needed to get out of the house, more importantly out of his  _ head _ for a few hours.

 

It was a Saturday night in the city that never sleeps, the perfect chance to forget about life for a while.

 

* * *

 

Hux forced himself over the dance floor through the throng of undulating bodies that throbbed in time to the music like a heartbeat. He felt too many hands on his body and had to restrain himself from swatting them all away, or punching any of the people who ground and gyrated against him.

 

The jeans he was wearing were so tight that they were doing very little to hide how excited he was, regardless.

 

The smell of sweat and spilled alcohol seemed to make the fake fog lit up by multicoloured lights thicker, and Hux has worked up a sweat by the time he orders his first shot without even dancing at all beforehand. It stung going down and it made his eyes water, but he didn’t cough.

 

Before he realised it, there was another shot in front of him and Hux downed it without a second thought, ordering two more--one for him, and one for whoever it was who had ordered him that one. The shitty techno-trance music blaring in the club was too loud for Hux to say thank you to the guy that had installed himself into Hux’s personal space, obviously the one who had bought him that last round judging by how he took the shot next to Hux’s.

 

Then suddenly Hux was pressed between his firm body and the wall, and rubbing himself on his thick thigh. It was okay, just doing that. Not really enough to get him off--not quickly, at any rate--but it did at least make his mind blissfully silent.

 

“I’ve got something a little…  _ extra _ if you want to party harder,” whoever it was said, but Hux was distracted by the way that the Scottish brogue curled the consonants against his ear. With all the alcohol in his blood at the moment and the way that lust was setting his veins alight, partying  _ harder _ sounded like fun, so Hux nodded eagerly without realising just what it was he was agreeing to until he had a rolled up dollar bill in hand and he was snorting coke off of the Scotsman’s stomach in the VIP section.

 

It was hairy, and normally Hux would have been into that, but instead, what he wanted was creamy, pale flesh with a smattering of beauty marks upon it, forming delicate little constellations. He had no idea  _ where _ that desire came from, though, and he tried to suppress it.

 

It was good. It made him feel excited. Not jittery like he had been before, when he was waiting alone in his apartment for news about Millicent. No, it was a  _ happy _ excitement, like he could direct a blockbuster despite him knowing nothing about filmmaking, like he could carve a marble statue despite not even knowing how to hold a chisel. He had so much  _ energy _ and there was so much that he wanted to  _ do _ and right now that was climb on top of the Scotsman’s lap and stick his tongue down his throat.

 

So Hux did.

 

But the lips felt  _ wrong _ . They were dry and chapped and not at all soft and supple and  _ lush _ , so Hux started kissing the Scot’s chin which was rough with stubble and not smooth and shaven.

 

So Hux sat up and closed his eyes and dug his hands into his hair and started grinding against the scotsman and that was good… for a while, but it still wasn’t  _ right _ . The rumble of appreciation was too low, it wasn’t enough like a whine.

 

The Scotsman wasn’t  _ him _ and Hux sighed and stilled his movements despite his obvious  _ physical _ interest.

 

“What are you playing at?”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well,” Hux lied, unable to meet the Scotsman in the eyes.

 

Faster than Hux could keep track of, the Scotsman had pinned Hux beneath him, and was thrusting against him.

 

“Wait, no, stop,  _ please _ ,” Hux pleaded, drunk and strung out and  _ wrung _ out, while clawing at the Scotsman’s face and writhing and trying to buck the Scotsman off, knee him in the balls, something,  _ anything _ . In Hux’s desperation, one of his nails gouged deep into the Scotsman’s cheek and he pulled off of Hux with a shout.

 

He stood up and quickly kicked Hux square in the ribs, causing him to roll to his other side and curl up as pain shot through his body so strongly that he almost threw up. He heaved once, twice, gagging on blood in his mouth before he spat it out onto the already dingy and stained carpet of the club.

 

“No! Please!” Hux tried to call out, but his ribs hurt too much for him to get the volume he required to be heard over the thrum of the music.

 

Hux saw the big, heavy boots of the Scotsman walk around to the front of him and that was the last thing that he registered before  _ more _ pain radiated down from his shoulder and down his arm, so blindingly that he didn’t even realise that the Scotsman had spat on his face before walking away.


	8. Chapter 8

What a long, strange week it had been, Hux mused to himself as he lowered himself on Kyle-Ron’s cock--and honestly the fact that he was fucking someone called  _ Kyle-Ron  _ was indication enough of that, because it  _ wasn’t _ the weirdest thing that had happened to him that week--and dragged his fingernails down Kyle-Ron’s well-formed pectorals hard enough to leave tracks. They hissed in unison as Hux seated himself fully on the behemoth of a cock, Hux hissing at the sharp burn of the stretch and Kyle-Ron at Hux’s sharp fingernails scratching his skin.

 

Hux gave himself a moment to adjust, grinding down on Kyle-Ron’s hips in a small circle before rolling his hips forwards experimentally. Despite Hux’s previous protestations for Kyle-Ron to  _ just get on with it _ , he had ended up so  _ over _ -lubed that his hole was positively dripping with the slick, viscous fluid and surely staining his 800-thread count sateen sheets. But he was glad for it now, as Hux felt the drag of every  _ micron _ of Kyle-Ron’s mammoth dick within him as he bore down and clenched upon that wretched, eldritch horror.

 

Hux leaned forwards onto the one hand that he had on Kyle-Ron’s chest to counter-balance himself when he arched backwards and tensed his thighs to lift himself up on that humungdong.

 

One hand, because the other was currently hanging against his chest by his necktie- _ cum _ -ad hoc sling. Because his collarbone was broken. Because the Scotsman in the bar had broken it.

 

Which, really, had been the catalyst to the comedy of errors which had led up to this point.

 

* * *

 

When Hux had come to, it was to the beeping of machinery and the scent of carbolic that indicated that he was in hospital, though his head hurt too much for him to be able to open his eyes and confirm. For all he knew, this could have been his own personal level of hell.

 

“They always said that twins do everything together, but I don’t think that they meant that you should go get yourself beaten up to go to hospital because your sister’s in labour.” Ah. Unamo. Of course it wouldn’t have been anyone but her.

 

“Please tell me it’s terminal so I can come back and haunt you as punishment for your misdeeds in life,” Hux responded irritably, still not opening his eyes, but this time for want of not seeing Unamo’s disappointed face more than trying to avoid the bright, fluorescent lights.

 

“And what misdeeds are those?”

 

“Being such a terrible personal assistant!” Hux snapped, a little meaner than intended. He winced at the volume of his outrage. “I’m sorry, I have a dreadful migraine, you deserve better than me taking it out on you. How about a 2 percent raise this year?”

 

“6 percent.”

 

“6 percent?” Hux scoffed. “That’s extortionism. Next thing, you’ll be wearing calfskin breeches and swinging a rapier at unsuspecting travellers saying ‘stand and deliver, your money or your life.’ 2 percent.”

 

“I’d be a dashing highwayman, and you know it. 5 percent.”

 

“Can you even ride a horse? And before you ask, no, Poe’s Borzoi BB is  _ not _ a horse. 3 percent.”

 

“The toxscreen came back positive, but I can ensure that it accidentally gets lost before it crosses Krennic and Thrawn’s desks. 4 percent.”

 

“Just Thrawn’s, and fine. 4 percent, but you’re only getting half your Christmas bonus this year.”

 

“Fine,” Unamo sighed exaggeratedly, and Hux can almost hear her eyes rolling from across the room. He didn’t quite sigh in relief that he accepted his offer of 4 percent, as anything larger than 5 he would have had to have discussed with Krennic and Thrawn--or, just  _ Thrawn _ \--and that would have led to all number of uncomfortable questions, as he was not known for being a generous man for the sake of charity. They both knew that he had no real control over the Christmas bonuses though, not single-handedly, at least.

 

“Wait, just Thrawn’s?”

 

“Yes, apparently Krennic is returning to prosecuting. He will be dividing up his assets between Thrawn and myself. Incidentally, I will need to hire some new associates, and likely also some additional paralegals.”

 

“I’ll send a message to HR right away,” Unamo said, already typing away at her phone, if the soft presses of the keypad on her Blackberry were anything to go by.

 

Eventually, Unamo left, leaving him on his lonesome save for one of the nurses who came in occasionally to check the fluid levels in his IV drip, and save for the Spanish daytime soap opera he had begrudgingly put on once he grew bored of glaring at the pale blue wallpaper of his hospital cell.

 

“When can I go home?” Hux asked the nurse each time she came in. She was a lovely girl named Rey whose sunny disposition despite Hux’s irascibility both aggravated him and endeared her to him.

 

“Once the Doctor signs off on your chart,” she always responded.

 

So Hux’s Sunday passed as slowly as treacle dripping from a spoon in a blur of overly-dramatic Spanish and his vitals being taken, which wasn’t really that weird, until about 2p.m, when a young girl, probably no older than six or maybe seven, situated herself in the guest chair beside Hux’s bed, and pulled out a doll that she had probably made by her own hand.

 

Which was kind of strange, but Hux figured that she had come with a parental figure to visit somebody here at the hospital and had likely slipped her guard. She wasn’t getting up to much trouble, just watching him eerily instead of actually playing with the doll that she had plucked from her My Little Pony backpack, so Hux was content enough to let her be. Someone would probably be along for her shortly.

 

One episode of the Spanish soap opera ended with a reveal that someone’s lover had actually been their long-lost son by their second husband who had turned out not to be a husband at all but a  _ wife _ , and that said long-lost son had actually had a daughter with the main character’s best-friend’s sister’s neighbour’s cousin.

 

Or something. Hux’s Spanish was a bit rusty, and there weren’t any subtitles for him to follow along with.

 

After another episode, the girl was still there, still staring at Hux, and Hux was slightly discomfited and tempted to ring for the nurse just to get the girl out of his room to stop staring at him creepily. Out of the corner of his eye, Hux looked at her, and she blinked slowly, one eye at a time.

 

Hux turned his attention back to the television for another episode. Surely Rey was due to come back soon, and she would see the little girl and help return her to where she needed to be.

 

The little girl scooted her chair closer to Hux’s bed with a great squeaking sound, but evidently she still wasn’t close enough because she repeated the action again. She repeated it  _ again _ , until the armrest of her chair was pressed against the side of his bedframe.

 

Hux was worried that she was going to try climbing on the bed when the girl leaned forwards, and Hux in turn leaned to press the button to call the nurse, but the girl just offered Hux her doll. 

 

Hux stared at the doll. The girl stared at Hux. She shook the doll in a gesture implying that she wanted Hux to take it, so he did. Hux reached out for it gingerly and held it by the--were those  _ literally _ strands of spaghetti?--hair between his thumb and forefinger.

 

“Star,” said a high-pitched voice.

 

Hux appraised the girl, and then the doll, noting it’s long “hair” and the… “dress” made out of duct-tape, assigning the doll a gender based on the arbitrary characteristics and the fact that the girl would probably be more likely to have a girl doll.

 

“Is that her name?” Hux asked her, tentatively. “It’s…” Hux struggled to find a suitable adjective. Thankfully, he didn’t have to, as the little girl rolled her eyes and interrupted him.

 

“No,  _ I’m _ Star,” she responded, with that special brand of imperiousness that only children can truly accomplish. She stuck out her hand for Hux to take, and Hux had to set down Star’s doll to shake it. Hux tried to ignore how wholly his hand eclipsed hers, how vulnerable she was.

 

If Hux could recognise how… odd the situation was, surely anyone else walking by would, too, and Hux struggled to take his hand back. But, Star evidently  _ didn’t _ , as she squeezed on ever tighter.

 

Hux sat there, shaking Star’s hand while trying not to jiggle his other collarbone too much until the little girl, satisfied, nodded sagely at him. She withdrew her hand and Hux instantly dropped his, trying to keep it as far away from Star as possible as she began digging around in her backpack. 

 

Out came a box of crayons, which Star shook her head at and stuck back inside. Out came a ball made entirely out of rubber bands, and that was just thrown carelessly over her shoulder. Out came a bracelet made out of paperclips and for a moment Hux thought that was what she was looking for by the way that her eyes lit up, but she just placed it on her wrist and went back to searching.

 

Finally, she withdrew a box of thumbtacks, which she lay on the bed beside Hux’s thigh, and a can-opener. Hux was about to ask what she was intending to do with them both before Rey came into the room with a Doctor in tow.

 

“Star,” Rey admonished gently. “You know you’re not allowed to go wandering about by yourself. Remember what happened last time? The custodians are  _ still _ cleaning up pigeon poop.”

 

Star giggled, and Rey sighed, though her mouth quirked up at the corners.

 

“Come on, pack up your things and let’s go get you back to your brother.”

 

It wasn’t until Star and Rey were out of the door before Hux realised that Star had left her little doll behind.

 

“Hey, wait!” He called out after them. “Your doll!”

 

Star stopped mid-skip and turned around to look at Hux, and shrugged.

  
“Keep her. You need a friend.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was rejiggled a couple of times and if you notice any errant pronouns (she/her instead of he/him) pls let me know and i'll fix it up quick smart

Hux could have left the doll at the hospital. He could have thrown it away, he could have given it to one of the nurses to give to Rey to give back to Star or her brother. But there was something in the lopsided stare of the mismatched-button eyes that compelled Hux to keep her.

 

Hux had tucked Stella--named in honour of Star--into the inside breast pocket of the spare suit that Unamo had brought with her earlier that day, and had promptly forgotten about her until later the next day when he had to wear the same spare suit because of an Incident at the coffeehouse on the ground floor of his building.

 

The incident had involved  _ him _ , though Hux had done an Oscar-worthy performance of pretending that he hadn’t recognised him. The barista had called out “half-strength triple shot soy latte no-foam with five pumps of sugar free raspberry and light whipped cream for Kyle-Ron,” and Hux had snorted at the order and the name, both. 

 

_ Kyle-Ron _ had spun around to glare at Hux without successfully securing the lid of his drink, and the delightful silver Zegna suit that Hux had paired with a pale pink shirt and a darker pink tie with a silver stripe had suffered for it. In the moment between Kyle-Ron spinning around and the incipient impact of the over-sweetened glorified caffeinated “beverage”--Hux was loth to call anything with that many descriptors  _ coffee _ \--on his suit, Hux could see Kyle-Ron’s expression change from anger to surprised recognition to  _ fear _ and Hux felt his own lip curl in a sneer. 

 

Then Kyle-Ron’s coffee collided with his crotch, staining his suit and burning his pallid, sensitive skin. Hux didn’t swear--he had more composure than that--but he did reflexively jump backwards, accidentally stepping into the busboy who dropped his tray of crockery and causing it to smash. Kyle-Ron reached forwards to help stabilise Hux, but ended up tripping over his own feet, tripping forward into Hux and sending him sprawling backwards into the pile of broken crockery, slicing through his suit and cutting into his flesh.

 

* * *

 

The same inexplicable force that had persuaded Hux to keep Stella also convinced him to set her down on the corner of his desk by his picture of Millicent, across from the fake succulent plant given to him by Poe as a Secret Santa gift that he had only discovered was fake because it didn’t die when he had gone on vacation and had no-one to water it.

 

His spare suit wasn’t nearly as high-quality as the one that he would prefer to be wearing for such an important meeting as this, and now he was running  _ late _ due to having to change into it,  _ and _ he hadn’t ended up having his morning coffee--a cappuccino, no frills and frippery about it.

 

The meeting had passed by all in a blur, the news about Krennic-Thrawn-Hux no longer being Krennic-Thrawn-Hux, and just Thrawn-Hux was met with an appropriate amount of shock and awe and congratulations to Hux, and Poe was nominated to be in charge of hiring all the new associates and paralegals to keep up with the increased caseload involved with receiving half of Krennic’s assets.

 

But then Hux’s meeting after that all went to shit.

 

Hux had barely stepped inside his office before  _ he _ \--not Kyle-Ron  _ he _ , but the Scotsman from the bar and  _ of fucking course _ it was him--took a look at Hux’s desk and decked him right in the face.

 

Hux rubbed his--now  _ smooth _ \--stinging cheek.

 

“I am sorry, Mister Tik, but you have me at a disadvantage, here. I’m not sure I quite know what I’ve done to offend you.”

 

He punched Hux across the other cheek, knocking his head back against the wall hard enough that stars bloomed before his eyes, and he was certain he could add “concussion” to his current list of injuries.

 

“Mister Tik, I will have to ask you to refrain from assaulting my person unless you wish to be personally escorted out by Security,” Hux said, and he was proud of himself for how little he slurred.

 

“That doll, where did you get it?”

 

“Doll?” Hux asked, confused by the non-sequitur. He followed Mister Tik’s gesture to the corner of his desk. “Oh, Stella? I recieved her from a lovely girl I met once.”

 

Mister Tik stepped towards Hux and punched him again, and this time, Hux caught his wrist in his usable hand. With  _ his _ spare hand, he reached into his blazer and--really, who did he think he was, wearing a shoulder holster?--pulled out a small revolver.

 

“What did you do to my sister?”

 

Hux sighed. Of  _ course _ it was going to come back and bite him in the ass. Of  _ course _ a mysterious doll from some random girl he had only met once before in his life would lead to him having a gun pointed in his face. Hux was just glad that the glass walls of his office were frosted, because security escalating the situation was exactly  _ not _ what he needed right now.

 

“Mister Tik,” Hux began, placidly, taking note of how his hand holding the gun was quite steady. “I can assure you that Star is perfectly fine. I simply met her during my brief stay at the Metropolitan Hospital yesterday,” Hux wisely leaving out the fact that the stay in question was due in no small part due to Mister Tik himself.

 

“And she was kind enough to keep me company while I was waiting to be discharged.”  His story sounded fake, even to his own ears, and Mister Tik stared at him suspiciously.

 

“Star later insisted that I keep her doll, stating that I, quote, ‘looked lonely.’ Now, please, Mister Tik. I am really quite busy, so I’m afraid I must insist that you take a seat.”

 

Mister Tik sneered at Hux, and pressed the cold metal of the muzzle harder against the underside of Hux’s chin, and in a distant part of his mind that  _ wasn’t _ preoccupied with his possibly imminent demise, thought that in another life, had they met under different circumstances, they might have been friends. Hux admired Mister Tik’s callous resolution, at any rate, but that didn’t stop him from reflexively swallowing.

 

“Tell me, why should I give my money to someone who steals dolls from little girls?”

 

Through a complicated manoeuvre that was more luck than skill, Hux managed to wrest the gun from Mister Tik’s grasp while pushing himself past, so he was standing between his desk and his assailant with his back to his desk, and in a single, fluid movement, emptied the chambers of the revolver into his palm--bar one--and spun the cylinder before clicking it back into place and setting it down on his desk, by his hip. He showed Mister Tik the six bullets in his palm.

 

“Please, sit,” Hux said, turning, and gesturing towards the guest seat, and carefully lining up the six bullets along the edge of his desk.

 

Mister Tik eyed Hux warily as he turned back around once more, but did not move.

 

Hux sighed, and picked up the gun, weighing it in his and and feeling the heft of it before spinning it around by the handle so that he could grip it properly. He held it up and aimed it at Mister Tik, who still did not move.

 

Hux cocked the hammer back.

 

Mister Tik did not move.

 

Without blinking, Hux moved his finger to the trigger.

 

Mister Tik didn’t move.

 

Hux pulled the trigger.  _ Click _ . Empty chamber. Hux rose an eyebrow at Mister Tik as he brought the muzzle to his own temple, once again feeling the cold metal against his skin.

 

Mister Tik eyed the gun, and then eyed Hux, and then eyed the gun again.

 

Hux cocked the hammer back.

 

Mister Tik subtly shifted his weight between his feet, almost imperceptibly so. But Hux noticed.

 

Hux pulled the trigger.  _ Click _ .

 

Two out of seven chambers were empty, and the likelihood of the remaining bullet being in one of the remaining five chambers of the cylinder was higher, the risks, the  _ stakes _ higher, so when Hux aimed the gun at Mister Tik again--

 

Mister Tik gingerly moved to take the seat that Hux had offered earlier, the seat in front of the six bullets all lined up neatly. Hux nodded, and stood to walk around to take his own chair.

 

Mister Tik sat stiffly, shoulders squared, and the only real sign of any tension in him as Hux sprawled in his own chair, winking down the barrel as he lined up the sights with Mister Tik’s head once more.

 

Hux cocked the hammer, pulled the trigger, and  _ click _ .

 

Three empty chambers, four chambers left.

 

Mister Tik sighed through his nose, his only visible concession to his relief at another reprieve. 

 

Hux readjusted himself in his seat so that he was leaning over the desk slightly, his elbow resting on the edge as he put the muzzle of the gun underneath his chin, mimicking how Mister Tik had placed it earlier. Hux made sure to wait until Mister Tik had finally gathered the courage to meet his eyes again before he cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger and--

 

_ Click _ .

 

Four down, three to go.

 

Hux let out a brusque bark of a laugh, and Mister Tik flinched away at the sudden, unexpected sound.

 

Smiling wide, with too many teeth, Hux aimed at Mister Tik again, cocked back the hammer, pulled the trigger, and  _ click _ . Mister Tik visibly deflated, his shoulders dropping and sliding a little further into the seat, and Hux’s smile somehow grew even wider, wide enough that his cheeks started to hurt.

 

Two more chambers left. Hux knew it, and obviously Mister Tik knew it, too, judging by the way that his eyes widened anxiously at the way that Hux once again pressed the muzzle to his skin. Two more chambers left--would it be the  _ last _ , though?

 

Hux cocked the hammer, but hesitated a little when it came to putting his finger on the trigger.

 

Mister Tik let out a shaky breath, despite the gun being pressed against Hux’s head.

 

Hux almost lost his grip on the gun, and accidentally pulled the trigger as he attempted to catch it--

 

_ Click _ .

 

Mister Tik whimpered. Hux stood, took sight of Mister Tik once more, who cringed back, trying to fold himself as small as possible. He cocked the hammer for what would be the last time and pulled the trigger and--

 

_ Click _ .

 

Empty.

 

He waked around the desk, unlatched the cylinder, of which, all seven chambers were  _ empty _ . He spun it around, and dropped it unceremoniously into Mister Tik’s lap, before placing his hand into his pocket and pulling out the final bullet.

 

“You asked me why you should give me your money. Allow me to tell you why. You see, Mister Tik, a good lawyer makes you believe he’s telling the truth.” Hux held the last bullet up to his eye-line, inspecting it. He set it down in line with the others, upright. “A  _ great _ lawyer, makes you believe the lie.”

 

Hux flicked the bullet over.

 

“I am a  _ very _ great lawyer.”

  
Honestly, the fact that Hux accepted a client who had put him in hospital, assaulted him in his  _ own office _ , and threatened him with a gun directly after, only to threaten  _ him _ with a gun sort of set the tone for how peculiar the week to come would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hokai so this was the last chapter that i had written, and although i've got plans for more, the plot bunnies are kicking my ass about starting work on another project so i'll probably come back to this one intermittently whenever i get bored/annoyed with my other one


	10. Chapter 10

That meeting took longer than Hux had expected it to, and due to the nausea of his concussion, he decided to skip lunch and go about reading some of the applications for the junior associate positions now open. But the words swam on the page, and Hux couldn’t find himself focusing.

 

He pressed the intercom button.

 

“Unamo? Tell Poe that I trust his instincts with the applicants, and that I will join him for the interviews of whoever he deems most appropriate.”

 

“Very good, sir. He has set himself up already with the first of the interviewees in conference room A.”

 

***

 

Which was only the first in a long chain of mistakes that would lead to him moonlighting as an underwear model, being wooed by a Sheikh, collapsing a people smuggling ring and being named the Patron Saint of a small Mexican town, going to a local indie grunge band concert, and hooking up with a man named  _ Kyle-Ron _ . All in the span of a (very strange) but short week.

 

Because, really, Hux winced as he drew himself off of Kyle-Ron’s cock that was almost as ridiculously large as his name was ridiculous, even softened slightly after spending itself inside of him--which was another mistake in and of itself--and flopped down beside Kyle-Ron, the rippling movements of the waterbed beneath him only serving to make his stomach roll even more.

 

He should have gotten up, cleaned himself up, and left. Instead, when Kyle-Ron turned onto his side to face him, propping himself up on his elbow, Hux found himself rolling into the massive expanse of his chest.

 

Hux tried to tell himself that it was just the gravity of his enormous form creating a divot in the waterbed.

 

Hux tried to tell himself that having Kyle-Ron’s warm chest pressed against his, with one overly-large hand splayed possessively across his waist, mindful of his ribs, wasn’t a nice contrast to the sweat cooling on his slick back, that the gradual evening of the breath wafting over his forehead wasn’t a comforting caress, that the gentle murmur of Kyle-Ron’s heart beneath his hand wasn’t grounding.

 

More importantly, Hux tried to tell himself five more minutes, and then he’d get up and leave. He tried to tell himself that he wouldn’t succumb to sleep, to the exhaustion of the  _ insane _ week he had had.

 

Then, in the morning, his eyelids still heavy with sleep, and Kyle-Ron snoring softly against the back of his neck because apparently at some point during the night they had managed to rearrange themselves so that he was being cuddled from behind because they were  _ spooning _ like they were  _ teenagers _ ; Hux tried to tell himself that  _ no _ , they most certainly would  _ not _ have another round, despite the insistent press of Kyle-Ron’s boner against his thoroughly abused ass.

 

But then Kyle-Ron mumbled a tired “good morning,” and swept some of Hux’s hair off of his forehead and the shock of it made Hux cant backwards against Kyle-Ron, and Hux tried to tell himself that it was okay, he was allowed this brief indulgence.

 

He rocked backwards again, purposefully this time, hissing between his teeth as the pressure on his ribs grew too great. At the same time, Kyle-Ron let out a contented hum, and shifted his own hips in time with Hux’s.

 

He set a slow, unhurried pace, lazily rutting against Hux’s ass, causing him to gasp slightly whenever his gargantudick rubbed against his hole and sent a frisson of pleasure to join the bundle of sparks growing low in his belly. It  _ hurt _ , but in a way that reminded him that he was real, that despite the extraordinarily inexplicable week he had had, he was still alive. 

 

For now.

 

The way that his heart was hammering in his chest at the notion of taking that baseball bat of a cock up his ass again made him worry that he was having a heart attack, especially when Kyle-Ron’s hand moved from his hip to readjust himself…

 

“Shh, it’s okay. Just like this.”

 

Kyle-Ron had moved his member to between Hux’s clenched thighs, and pistoned his hips with more abandon, the head of his cock gently skimming against the underside of Hux’s sac.

 

Kyle-Ron let out a high-pitched whine rather reminiscent of the over-sized puppy-dog that he was (although that was probably not the greatest thing to dwell on while fucking him, Hux admonished himself) and placed his hand on Hux’s upper thigh and squeezed tightly.

 

It would bruise.

 

Out of all of the injuries that he had received lately, those ones, Hux found, he wouldn’t mind so much. They were privately placed, something secret, just for him and Kyle-Ron and--

 

Wait. Why did Hux find the idea of Kyle-Ron marking his body, marking Hux as  _ his _ to be so enthralling?

 

Hux propped himself up on an elbow to propel himself out of bed, because  _ shit _ this is why he didn’t  _ do _ this, why he didn’t sleep with people more than once, they always got attached. Normally it was the other way around, but--

 

Then Kyle-Ron’s rough, calloused hand closed around him and Hux let out an embarrassingly wanton moan, and collapsed back into the bed.

 

Which then jiggled a little, and the head of Kyle-Ron’s dick pressed just  _ so _ against Hux’s perineum and then Hux was seeing stars.

 

Or he would have, had his eyes not rolled back into his head. He was rather grateful that they were spooning because otherwise Kyle-Ron would have probably called an exorcist.

 

But his prior anxiety punctured his post-coital miasma and Hux was flinging himself out of the bed before Kyle-Ron had enough wherewithal to string together “what the  _ fuck?  _ Where are you going?”

 

Hux turned to face Kyle-Ron and gave him a sneer of cold command, though the effect was largely lost by the fact that he was awkwardly hobbling on one leg while trying to get the other leg into his pants, with one arm, like a harder version of that Qwop game he played once in his Undergrad when he was high off of his tits on both pot brownies and groovy bears at the same time.

 

He nearly stumbled--but not quite--into Kyle-Ron’s tallboy that had half of the drawers poking out, and rested against it to don his clothing.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hux asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice like honey from a spoon, as he did his best to straighten the ceremonial cassock that the small Mexican town had bequeathed upon him. “I’m leaving you.”

  
Though as he turned around, and caught sight of Kyle-Ron’s broken expression in the reflection of the window, Hux wondered to himself what he was really leaving.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA, i LIVE motherfuckers!
> 
> this thing grew legs and ran too fast for me to be able to wrangle it, but persistence predation wins again!

“So, let me get this straight,” Poe said, taking a sip from his cosmo. “You were mistaken for an underwear model and then an oil magnate took an interest to you and you went to a private island?”

 

“That’s correct,” Hux said primly, eating the olive from his martini.

 

Poe stared unblinkingly.

 

“And _how_ did that happen, again?”

 

* * *

 

Hux strode out of Kyle-Ron’s apartment, head held high… for as long as it took to reach the elevator. As soon as the doors closed and he was left all alone, out of sight of everyone--the security guard watching the CCTV from the elevator notwithstanding--Hux slid down the back wall of the elevator, and gathered his knees to his chest.

 

Okay, that might have been a little mean. Just a little, mind. Not enough to go back and apologise, though.

 

But he probably should. He was _quite_ a dick.

 

What would he even say?

 

“I’m sorry that being born into the position of privilege that I was meant that I grew up highly conceited without care or even consideration of other people’s feelings? I’m sorry that I lashed out at you as a last-ditch defence mechanism?”

 

Hux sighed. None of those would fit the bill, and trying to consider what to say left him with a raging headache. Which was how he found himself back at the little cornerstore-cum-pharmacy for the second time this week.

 

It was even the hirsute cashier-owner who spoke a bizarre Slavic dialect manning the counter again. How convenient.

 

When Hux placed his purchases--the heaviest-duty painkillers that he could get over the counter, and a bottle of water--on the counter to pay for them, the cashier-owner let out a “grargh” that Hux interpreted as “you need to take better care of yourself.”

 

Then some personal assistant had shouted out “Tommy!” and Hux hadn’t reacted, despite being the only one there. As Hux wasn’t called Tommy.

 

He had gone to the pharmacy to, once again, get something for his headache, as he had grown tired of listening to Poe wax poetic over lunch about one of the applicants for the recent position of associate, one Finn Galfridian. The name was permanently embedded in his brain just like the Lord’s Prayer.

 

“He sounds…” Hux had said about him, when Poe had said something about Finn having rescued a bunch of puppies from drowning in a burning tree. Or something.

 

“Good?” Poe supplied, helpfully.

 

“Yes. I approve, you may hire him.”

 

So, that was why he was in the pharmacy, and then why the assistant mistook him for “Tommy,” who must have been another pale, red-haired twink. (Which, given that the incidence of the phenotype of red-hair is about 2% of the population in the United States, was pretty damn coincidental.)

 

“What have you _done_ to yourself?” The assistant had asked him, probably about the whole arm-in-a-sling thing. “Whatever, this shot is from the navel down, it doesn’t matter if your arm is out of commission.”

 

Hux had then been bodily dragged to the front counter, where there were two cashiers in a heated argument, speaking rapid-fire Russian.

 

The assistant had coughed a few times to try and get their attention, but to no avail. After groaning as she checked her watch for a third time, she slapped a $20 down on the counter and swiped the painkillers, and dragged Hux outside.

 

“Those two are _always_ at it. I don’t know why they went into business together.”

 

Hux was about to ask just what was going on, only, he decided that he didn’t care enough to listen to the answer. It was probably some sort of drug-induced fever dream, and he was still in hospital after being beaten up.

 

So he let himself “go with the flow,” or, rather, get dragged along by the assistant to a nondescript apartment building, up several flights of stairs, and shoved into a changing room.

 

“Snoke wants the pink ones modelled first.”

 

* * *

 

“Where _is_ that boy with my coffee? Genius takes _energy_!” The wrinkly old photographer shouted out at his assistant, who was placidly typing away at her phone.

 

Hux was of half a mind to give her a card, tell her he’d give her a job if this gig didn’t work out for her.

 

But then… _he_ came striding in, with several coffee cups.

 

“Extra large no-fat soy extra-hot cap with a double shot of sugarfree vanilla and cinnamon for you, boss,” Hux’s arch nemesis said, looking down at the receipt.

 

But then he looked up, saw Hux, and dropped the coffee everywhere.

 

***

 

“Okay, I’m following you _so_ far, but how did you get from a modelling shoot to a private island in the Caribbean?” Poe asked, chin in hand, elbow on counter, paying rapt--if confused--attention.

 

Hux sighed.

 

“Do try to keep up.”

 

***

 

After the shoot, where Hux had never felt quite so vulnerable and yet empowered at the same time, Snoke pulled him aside to speak with him privately.

 

“You have potential,” Snoke told him.

 

“Thank you,” Hux replied.

 

“I would like to discuss further association with you, come. Let me take you to lunch. My car is waiting out front.”

 

Then the car took them to the airport, and then the private jet flew them to the island. Simple, really.

 

***

 

“Wait, that’s it? That’s so _boring_ . Here I was hoping for a bit more _drama_ ,” Poe said, throwing his arms up. Finn, who was on stage at the time, thought Poe was cheering at him, so Finn waved back.

 

Hux directed a steely, unblinking glare towards Poe who just smiled serenely.

 

“I am sorry that the sordid tale of my turbulent week leaves you wanting, Dameron.”

 

“Listen, man. As a partner at your firm, I have a vested interest in your efficacy, and you’ve been running on empty lately. I’m just glad you had a good time.”

 

But before Hux could respond, Poe clapped him on the shoulder, saying that he had to go “hit the head.”

 

Hux was sure Poe just wanted to go talk to Finn, whose band had finished their set, but he didn’t care enough to call Poe out on it, so Hux waved him away and turned back to his martini.

 

“Should you even be drinking with your medication?” Phasma asked him as he flagged her down.

 

“I patronise this establishment for its alcoholic beverages, not the unqualified medical advice of its bartenders,” Hux scoffed.

 

But just then… _he_ sidled up next to Hux on the bar, close enough that their elbows were nearly touching.

 

“Good set tonight, Kylo,” Phasma said.

 

“””Kylo””” grinned goofily at her, his entire face seeming to change. It’s amazing how different it was from his typical sullen expression, almost perpetually pouting.

 

Hux downed the rest of his martini, and slammed the glass down a bit too hard on the counter, drawing Kylo’s attention.

 

“Hey man, what’s your problem?” Kylo snapped, turning towards Hux.

 

Then, as their eyes met, Kylo looked quickly away again, his face twisted in pain.

 

Something tugged in Hux’s stomach, and he figured that maybe, just _perhaps_ he shouldn’t have started drinking on an empty stomach, as he seemed to be suffering from indigestion.

 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Kylo mumbled, swishing his bourbon-on-the-rocks around.

 

“Well, I--”

 

“Am here now,” Phasma interjected, smoothly cutting off what Hux was about to say.

 

Hux opened his mouth to speak, closed it, glared at Phasma, and then sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, more than usual.

 

Or maybe it was just because he had recently broken his ribs that he seemed to notice just how much he _actually_ sighed.

 

“So does that mean that you’ve… considered it?” Kylo meekly asked, still looking at his drink and not at Hux.

 

It? What did he--? Oh, right.

 

***

 

It was after the photo shoot, but before Snoke waylaid him, that Kylo stopped Hux with a gentle hand--more like _paw_ \--on his elbow.

 

“Hey, listen, I’m really sorry. I don’t normally do…”

 

Hux raised an eyebrow at him, silently daring him--no, _Kylo_ \--to continue.

 

Kylo just shrugged.

 

As Hux was about to walk away, Kylo’s hand tightened around Hux’s elbow. Not enough to hurt, just enough to stop him.

 

Nodding to himself, Kylo looked up at Hux.

 

“Would you give me another chance? To do it--do it right?”

 

Kylo dropped Hux’s elbow, and dug into his messenger bag where he withdrew a leaflet advertising some sort of performance.

 

“My band and I are playing this weekend. I’d really like it if you came. We can get drinks after and… talk?” Kylo’s expression had been so hopeful that Hux couldn’t find it within himself to shoot Kylo down directly.

 

But then Snoke had come along, anyway, and Hux wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to say no even if he had wanted to.

 

***

 

“I don’t…”

 

Kylo warily side-eyed him, and Phasma was belligerently drying a glass just within earshot.

 

“I don’t normally give people second chances,” is what Hux ended up going with. He thought it was vague enough to let Kylo down lightly.

 

Unfortunately, it was _too_ vague, and Kylo seemed to take it as an accession.

 

There was that goofy smile again.

 

“Great! Have you eaten yet? I know this great place nearby that would still be open. Do you even eat? You--”

 

“Hux! Buddy!” Poe interrupted, and Hux made a note to himself to get him an actually decent Christmas present this year. “Finn and I are just about to grab something to eat, do you want to come with?”


End file.
